Who really wants to be a millionaire? Er me, I do

The next time you see me I'll be dressed head to toe in designer labels and dripping with diamonds.

I'll be preparing to board my yacht complete with handsome, modelesque men ready to wait on me hand and foot.

I'll have my own personal masseur on board to bliss me out, the best chef to cook me exquisite meals, everything I've ever wanted.

I might even buy a holiday home in an exotic location, or an entire island. Me and the boyfriend, we can travel the world and spend, spend, spend. We can do anything. We can. . . Owwwww! Don't pinch me! A girl can dream. Which is all it is because, clearly if this had really happened, this week's column would be a big block of white space.

But I wonder how it really feels to be a jackpot winner and to be able to call yourself a millionaire? It could happen to any one of us if we take a gamble. The thought of having millions of pounds, when you really sit and think about it, which I do quite alot, is pretty scary to me. I think I might panic.

Just ponder over this though, one Saturday night or a Friday, if you're aiming big with the EuroMillions, and it could change your life.

Picture the scene. There I am in my jim jams with a glass of rosé and a bowl of ice cream and I hear the numbers being read out. Number 4. Yes I've got it. I could win a tenner. Number 21. Yes. Really? Wow I actually might. Number 42. It's mine 10 pounds, let's go to the pub tomorrow lunch time. Number 18. No way, is this a joke? I've got that one too. I'll take some more cash. Number 38. You are kidding. What? Seriously? At this point my eyes would be on sticks, getting wider and wider, my jaw gradually dropping to the floor. And Number 10. Cue string of mild expletives and much leaping around. Is this really happpening?

My boyfriend would now be walking into the room staring at me like I am some kind of lunatic, probably thinking that the new series of Downton Abbey has just been advertised. I'm flapping the ticket in his face, screaming like a wild woman: "Check it. Check it. Check the numbers." He looks. Looks again. And again, then drops down to the sofa in disbelief. "We won. We won. We won," he whispers. He's much calmer and more restrained than me you see. I think, with all that drama and excitement, I would be hyperventilating and in need of a paper bag and a wet flannel.

So what's next. What would you do? How would you feel? Total disbelief I think.

I mean, one minute you are desperately trying to stay on the treadmill of life, then the next minute you can get off whenever you choose and do pretty much whatever you want, whenever you want.

Can you even imagine all the things you could do without even thinking about it. The shopping, for clothes and cars and just nice stuff? The holidays, the luxuries. Never having to go to work ever again (unless you want to – yeah right!). Not having to worry about watching the pennies. No more counting the days until pay day. I wonder. They say that if you are rich you're either a spender or a skinflint. But I like to think I'd be somewhere in the middle, save a bit but enjoy life too.

Would you go public? No way. Why blurt it out from the rooftops for everyone to know and then share the error of your ways if you mess up? Me, I'd keep it quiet. I'd share my stash with my nearest and dearest, just those people I can truly trust. I certainly wouldn't flaunt it about. Although, like most things in life until it actually happens, if it ever happens, who knows how I'll feel.

But I think I'll carry on having fun with the dream and fantasise about how I would spend all those millions of pounds. If only. Hold on let me check my numbers. . .

Read Lisa Williams first in your Weekend Express & Star